Berlin Wall
by RebelWade
Summary: This takes place right after the season 8 episode, Screwed. Elliot and Olivia talk about Kathy's pregnancy. One shot.


Even from the door of the bar, I know she's staring at a ring in the wood in front of her. She's spaced out, deep in thought, and she's had plenty of time to put her defenses where she needs them—right over her chest like a shield, protecting her heart, her ego, our partnership like she always does.

That wasn't how I wanted to tell her. I feel like an idiot. I guess I didn't have any sort of plan on how to tell her, but if I had to tell Olivia something like that… Jesus, that wasn't the way to do it. But Kathy blind-sided me at the precinct and Liv knew I was distracted. She knows me. God, sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. She asked what was wrong and it just came out. Things have been different with Liv lately. We've been closer, more connected, a little flirtatious, even more loyal. And there's just been that… _thing._ That unspoken affection that we've always had. It's been stronger since she got back from Oregon. We've felt more like… _us_ than we ever have. The wall of my marriage hasn't been between us anymore, but as soon as I said 'pregnant,' I might as well have crossed over into Berlin.

As I sit next to her she's moving a beer in front of me, followed by a shot. The smell of tequila burns my nostrils as I take a whiff. I turn my head to her with my brow raised.

"Your daughter just got arrested," she explained, "and I don't have to be up for work tomorrow, so I thought it would be a good time to relive our thirties."

"Suspended?" I ask, and I spot her own shot of tequila waiting in front of her.

She bobbed her head subtly, then took a sip of her beer. "Yeah," she said with a hiss.

"How many have you had?"

Her head shakes this time. "Waited for you."

I take the shot between my fingers and lift it in her direction. "To the shit we signed up for."

That got a smile out of her. A faint one, but a smile nonetheless. She lifts her own glass. "To the shit we thought we got away with finally catching up to us."

Our glasses clink before hitting the table, then I stifle a cough as the bitter liquid burns my throat. I can hardly get the words out when I choke out, "never really liked tequila."

We're silent then, like we often are when we drink or eat together. Usually because we already know everything there is to know. It's a comfortable silence. But not tonight. At least not for me. The Berlin Wall feels thick with tension. I can't tell if Olivia feels it too. Maybe she doesn't feel the same divide I do about Kathy's pregnancy. Maybe she doesn't feel betrayed as much as I feel like I did the betraying. Maybe I was reading into our closeness and flirtation.

Some days it seems so clear. Most days I don't let myself believe it. For so long, I felt guilty about even thinking of Olivia like I have. I've betrayed my wife emotionally, in my thoughts, my dreams… I was _just_ getting to the point where I could see myself taking that step with her without a sense of guilt and I ruin it like this. How could I be so stupid?

I don't know if I should even bring it up, especially if it meant nothing to her. Now that I think about it, she didn't seem upset when I told her.

But then again, she didn't seem happy either.

All I know… the _only_ thing I know is that I don't want to be one more person who has hurt Olivia Benson.

"Another one?" Olivia asks, breaking the silence.

"Please."

We both finish our beers before the next round of shots gets to us and we forgo a toast, drinking the liquor quickly and swiftly. The bartender brings us both new bottles to sip.

She finds the ring on the wood again. I can see her focusing on it. I know she's about to speak.

"Listen," she says, eyes still glued to her spot. She rubs her finger on a non-existent stain. "When I asked what you were going to do about the baby earlier, I didn't mean—"

"I know." I cut her off before she could say it. I know I acted brashly, projected, assumed.

"What I meant was—"

"I know what you meant."

She's looking at me now and I'm the one who can't seem to make eye contact.

"I… I was projecting at the time and I _wanted_ you to be asking if we were going to keep the baby—"

"God, no, El. I _know_ you, I'd never—"

I shake my head and reach absentmindedly for her to get her to stop talking. "I know, I know!" I say. I realize that my hand has landed on her thigh and I can't tell if that's what made my breath leave me, but I'm suddenly having a harder time getting air. I let my hand linger for a minute before pulling it back. "I know you weren't asking me that," I clarify, then take a quick swig of beer. "I reacted that way because it was what I was already thinking."

Olivia nods understandingly, then her lips curve into something supportive, but not quite a smile. "You won't," she says. " _She_ won't."

"No, we won't."

I take a breath. I just have to blurt it out and get it over with. "I know that what you were asking me was if I was getting back together with Kathy for good."

I finally meet her eyes. She hasn't taken hers off me. Somehow I see both grief _and_ hope in them when she asks quietly, "Are you?"

My chests aches and I know that Berlin is in my hands. I either build it or tear down its last bricks in this yes-or-no answer. I know what I have to do. I know I need to tell her. But it's killing me. I hate that I'm going to be another disappointment. I hate that I can't have her. I hate that I can't say 'let's get out of here' and bring her back to my place to make love to her. Show her she's loved, wanted, cared for, cherished.

I've stared at her in silence for too long and she knows the answer because her chin quivers just once before she looks away, back to the ring on the bar. "Good," she says. She breaths deeply and exhales, cementing blocks of brick between us as she does. She straightens her back and nods her head as if she's convincing herself of something. "That's good, El. I… I'm… That will be good for your family."

I've never seen her lie as poorly as she is right now.

"Liv…" I'm not sure what I'm going to say, but she shakes her head to tell me to stop anyway.

"I… um…" she stops herself, still staring down the wooden countertop. Her voice is barely audible. "When?"

My lungs deflate. I don't know whether silence or an answer will hurt her less. But I decide that, after all we've been through together, she deserves honesty. "It happened, ah… I went home to see the kids after Malcom Royce killed his family… and it just…"

Her head lifts now, and her eyes are darting back and forth like she's putting together an equation in her head—and she is. She's doing the math, realizing that I slept with Kathy just weeks ago, after Liv and I started getting closer, after our late-night talks, intimate conversations, confessions, going to bat for one another. And second by second, we both feel more and more like I've betrayed her.

Her head is still tilted up as she nods this time. "Royce," she repeats. "Got it." It's getting too real now and anger is developing over her sadness. "Got it," she says again. I watch as she inhales and makes some internal decision. Her anger and sadness are still there, but she reigns them in and masks them. Suddenly she's not just on the other side of the wall. I'm in Berlin and she's in Fiji. She taps her finger on the bar a few times before putting her hands in her lap and she turns her body to me cordially, but her eyes are glassy through her fake smile. "Happy for you, Elliot."

I feel so defeated I can't even fake a thank-you. She's so far away and it hurts. Panic and anger bubble in my chest. I don't even think before I say it.

"Please don't leave me again."

She turns her face away from me and I know she's trying as hard as she can to reject tears. My statement just broke one of our unspoken rules. It's acknowledging that I know why she left last time. It acknowledges my fear of being without her. I know I can't say all the things we're supposed to keep hidden.

Why didn't I say them months ago when the wall was down?

She still won't turn my direction. "Liv, please."

I want to reach out, but I don't want to push her away. I'm losing her and I'm barely keeping it together while I freak out internally. Jesus, just turn back towards me. "Liv…"

My voice breaks accidentally that time as my throat tightens and her head jerks at the sound. I try to get myself together and she doesn't look at me, but she turns her head back so I see her silhouette. She swallows to hold back her tears.

That tiny bit of herself she's giving back to me is enough to make me give everything I can to her if it will make her stay.

"I fucked up," I whisper.

"El…"

"I fucked up and I was weak, and I'm so goddam sorry, Liv."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," she says. And I know she's trying to pad the situation, make it seem like there was never anything there so we can go on pretending like we're just 'best friends and partners' like we tell the rest of the world. Maybe I should play along. It would probably best, but I'm still too desperate to stop. Even the smallest threat of losing her again has me at her mercy and she doesn't even realize it.

"No, Liv. You know I do. What you don't know is how much I think about—"

"El—" she turns her head to me almost in a panic.

"How all I want to do is—"

"El don't."

"Touch you."

Her entire body releases something as her eyes close and she exhales. She looks like she's been sucker punched and a weight has lifted at the same time.

I lean in a little closer just so I can keep talking but make sure no one else can hear.

"All of you," I whisper. "Every last inch of your body."

"Stop…"

"You've no idea how much I wonder if you feel as good in person as you do in my fantasies."

A tear escapes from under her mask and she quickly flicks it away with her hand.

"Because I know your heart, I get your soul. I love getting your stupid tea in the morning and acting like I'm annoyed when you steal my sweatshirt every day."

My heart soars when that makes her laugh as she stifles another tear on her cheek.

"I love that it smells like you when you finally remember to give it back," I continue. "I know every part of you… except the most intimate ones."

She shakes her head sadly. She thinks I'm done, but if this is my only chance, I'm telling her everything. "I want to know the noises you'd make beneath me." Her eyes are slightly furrowed and her eyes wide when she looks at me. Her breath is quickened and I'm not sure if she's angry or surprised, but I continue. "I dream about how your breasts would feel against my chest. In my hands. My mouth."

She closes her eyes again. "Elliot, stop," she whispers weakly.

I don't know if she can even hear me when I lower my voice even more. "Touch you, taste you… feel your wetness when you orgasm around me."

" _Jesus!"_ she curses under her breath.

"I have _craved_ you for eight years, Olivia," I say, and my throat gets choked up. "You have no idea the things I've thought of doing to you." I laugh as I recall, "and all the places in the 1-6 I've imagined doing them."

She laughs. Her smile could cure hunger. She nods, like she is agreeing that there are places and things she's imagined too, but I can't be sure. She's still guarded.

"But even if I never get those things, Liv… I can't do this without you again."

She meets my eyes and I see the wall being chiseled just a bit.

"El… I came back to SVU because…" she hesitates, choosing her words carefully. Her eyes are averted. I might be successfully chiseling the wall, but her shield is still firmly in place. She sighs. "Being away… it… it didn't… _help._ "

I nod as though I understand, but I'm only 80% sure I'm registering her words. I want to think that she's admitting she left because of her feelings, but being away didn't take the feelings away. I _think_ that's what she's saying. That's it, right? I'm afraid to push it and ask.

I practically jump when she unexpectedly reaches for my hand and interlocks her fingers with mine. She squeezes gently. I look at the side of her face. Even though I know she's about to make her exit, her single, innocent touch knocked down the Berlin Wall. "For better or worse," she says. It's her way of telling me she won't leave again, but the double entendre reminds us of my fidelity. True to Olivia Benson form, she saved our partnership and my marriage in one sentence. I don't know whether to love or hate her for it. She squeezes one more time, then lets go and stands up.

She walks three steps toward the exit before I hear my name and turn around.

"El?"

"Yeah."

Tears leave her eyes and she looks to the sky, laughing at how ridiculous it is that she's emotional. I know she hates it when she cries in public. She gathers herself enough together and looks at me with the most genuine, beautiful smile through glassy eyes.

She breathes out, "Congratulations."


End file.
